Author's note: Well, looks like dinner has been coming along without any major incidents so far, who would have known…
In all honesty, Tony is having a real hard time believing the assertions about this Hallgrim guy supposedly having a huge interest in the other eight realms. So far, he's been doing most of the talking himself. About himself.
Not that Tony is complaining, though.
But on cue, as if hearing Tony's thoughts, Hallgrim suddenly leans back in his seat with an expectant look at his guest, the backrest of his chair creaking slightly as it takes his weight. "Ah, it would seem I have rudely been talking all the time here," he says, for the first time showing some sense of self-awareness. "So, Man of Iron, would you please humour us with a heroic tale from the mighty battles you have fought in Midgard? We have heard so much of your prowess from Thor, and we would be delighted to hear even more of it."
His mighty battles, huh?
Oh well, he can take some random fight against whatever super-villain of the day, add and detract a little from what really happened, and Hallgrim should be satisfied. Since this is what he has been invited here for in the first place, he might as well make an impression and leave his host happy and with appreciative words to his Council-sitting brother.
"Of course," he grins, trying to look sincere. "Though it's definitively not easy to pick just one, since we Midgardians are constantly faced with many dangerous enemies that are in serious need of defeating," he points out, trying to play his role of well-trained Midgardian monkey like it's expected.
Hallgrim looks pleased at this, adjusting his position as if preparing himself for a long evening of story-telling. "I'm sure whichever one you choose, it will be an interesting and riveting tale," he offers as encouragement.
Tony leans forward a little and draws himself up for best effect, about to lay it on thick, when he is cut off by Björn on the other side of the table before he's even gotten the first word out.
"How about telling us of the battle in which you defeated Loki and his army?" the gaunt man drawls as he regards Tony through half-lidded eyes. "I, for one, would sure like to hear all about that."
And Tony feels himself freezing in his seat like a snowman. This fucking dolt expects him to tell the tale of Loki's defeat when the guy is right there having to listen to every humiliating word of what lead up to his current position as a slave? While expecting him to keep silent and not speak a word? No fucking way.
And of course, it's such a dastardly insidious way for someone who holds a grudge against the god to get back at him and revel in his lowly position. So much more subtle and clever than either Arnulf or Fjalar who had resorted to petty insults, this guy is nonetheless able to demean Loki just as effectively, while still acting all noble-like as he hides behind the prim and proper cover of merely wishing for a story.
Yeah, the perfect solution for a prissy highborn – humiliating Loki without having to lower himself to acknowledging his existence, something that would no doubt be unbecoming for someone of a noble station, at all paying attention to the presence of a slave who should be beneath his notice. But the guy can still have his little revenge; no need to go crude and rude like a simple servant or soldier.
He wonders if it's considered acceptable here to strangle a fellow guest with his bare hands, but he thinks that Hallgrim might have something to say about a guest ruining his party like that. Probably in front of his brother too.
At his side, he can sense rather than see how Loki is shifting where he's kneeling on the floor, the soft sound of carefully controlled breaths reaching his ears, and he knows that he's not the only one who would love to put his hands in a chokehold around the neck of this bastard.
No, he just can't agree to this crap.
"You know, I really don't think-" he begins, giving Björn his best freezing cold Arctic stare, but then Loki's hand is suddenly on his thigh beneath the table, giving it a soft but insistent squeeze.
He startles at the unexpected, surprisingly intimate touch, almost dropping the fork still clutched between cramping fingers. Damn, he told Loki to poke him if he was about to say something stupid, not freaking squeeze his thigh.
But Loki's message is clear enough. Don't argue. Hallgrim doesn't like discord in his halls.
And he feels his heart sink. He really doesn't want to be a part of this; having others do it is bad enough, but taking an active part in the humiliation himself, no matter how unwillingly, is even worse.
But then, Hallgrim speaks up. "Ah, we have heard it all already, both from Thor and in the days of the trial that followed," he waves the suggestion off. "No, I say let's hear some other heroic tale of yours, Man of Iron. I'm sure you have plenty of them in store."
And as hairy and ugly as Hallgrim is, Tony could kiss him right there. On the mouth, even. With a little tongue, if necessary.
Relief washing over him, he quickly launches into a detailed exposition about one of his fights against Victor Doom and a group of doom-bots before anyone can protest. His host looks appropriately impressed, offering loud exclamations and even making little jerky movements in his seat during the more dramatic parts, as if imagining himself participating in the battle.
Björn listens for a little while, his hand impatiently playing with the ends of his light blond and very lanky hair, but he quickly looses interest and instead turns to converse with the man to his other side. Tony isn't sorry about that for even a second.
"That must have been a marvellous battle indeed," Hallgrim offers excitedly once Tony's long-winded exposé comes to an end. "But you must tell me more about your magnificent suit of armour. Is this kind of equipment commonly worn by warriors in Midgard?"
"I wouldn't say that," Tony answers with a shrug. "Most of our weapons are a bit more… prosaic than that."
But he obliges Hallgrim's wishes nevertheless, offering a passably detailed description of his suit and its weapons. He's not sure how much the guy really understands, but it's not like Tony cares.
Having just finished giving an explanation of the suit's thrusters, he makes a short break to down the last contents of his mug of beer, throat having gone dry from all the talking. Just as he's about to reach out for the large pitcher in front of him for a refill, Loki quickly gets up, smoothly grabbing the decanter and pouring some of its contents into Tony's mug.
Damn, this is totally awkward.
A moment later, Loki is once more kneeling at his side, as if he had never moved at all.
Trying to hide his embarrassment he fiddles with a clasp on his cuff that has unhooked itself and fallen loose, letting the thing slide back into place with a metallic click.
When Tony looks up again, Björn is studying him from across the table, his eyes travelling to Tony's adjusted cuff and then continuing to seemingly incidentally sweep over Loki. "Ah, the satisfaction of putting things into their right place where they belong, huh?" he says casually with pointedly raised eyebrows, and it's oh-so-obvious how he's not referring to that cuff clasp at all.
With a momentous effort, he ignores the comment, while imagining having a nice and long chat with Björn while wearing his Iron Man suit. However, he can feel how Loki is tensing up next to him, stiff and rigid as a statue with shoulders drawn up, and it doesn't seem as if his state of agitation is subsiding.
It's just an impulsive whim on his part, but Loki is so close to him, his face merely inches away from Tony's leg, so no one will be able to tell. So he furtively, as discreetly as he can manage, reaches an arm behind the god and gently rubs what he hopes is a soothing hand along Loki's back, trying to offer some small amount of reassurance. The muscles are taut like bowstrings drawn a hair's breadth from the point of snapping, but he can feel them relax as the strain slowly fades away beneath his touch.
It's strange how a mere touch can be so soothing and comforting, drawing all the tenseness out of his body.
He's disappointed when the hand moves away again, but the touch still lingers.
As much as he would have loved to strangle Björn with his bare hands for his comment, he's glad that Tony didn't cause a scene, instead continuing to humour Hallgrim and his interest for Midgardian warfare and weapons, as if nothing had happened.
The degradation of having to kneel on the ground and act the part of a humble slave has been burning at the back of his throat and clawing inside his stomach ever since the dinner started. Still, he tries to console himself with the thought that if he absolutely has to kneel by someone's seat like this, he'd rather have it be Tony's than anyone else's.
It didn't take long for him, however, to find out that the best way to distract his mind from his current situation is with the memory of the breakfast he had shared with Tony this morning, recalling every little detail he can remember – the way the corners of Tony's eyes had wrinkled when he smiled, the faint smell of his cologne that was noticeable even over the aromas of the food, and the way the muscles had played beneath his skin as his arm reached out to grab a leg of chicken. The room around him fades as he indulges in the memory, leaving only him and Tony together on a blanket.
He's glad when the dinner is finally broken up in favour of the usual dancing to round the evening off. As boring as it is to watch a room of nobles dance with each other, at least it means he can stand at the sidelines again instead of having to kneel at the table.
Tony looks like he's on the verge of calling it a night, about to head over to Hallgrim to take his leave, but he's caught mid-step by a young woman who even Loki can see from where he's standing is being quite insistent in her request for a dance. And Tony acquiesces, heading Loki's previous advice that turning down a lady would be very impolite.
He watches the couple as they move across the floor, Tony unfamiliar with the steps but quickly picking up on them nevertheless. The woman laughs, her long skirts flowing as he spins her around, and as they converge into their original position again, her body is pressed a little closer to his. When the dance finally comes to an end, her cheeks are flushed, and clearly not only from the physical exertion.
Tony has barely let go of her and executed a little courteous bow before he's approached by another woman who wants her turn with the Midgardian guest. She's voluptuous, her décolletage low-cut, and more forthcoming than the first woman judging by the way her hands are seductively gripping his arms, a lot more firmly than the light resting of fingertips expected from a female dance partner. She leans in, whispering something in Tony's ear that makes him laugh, and she offers him her most dazzling smile in return.
There are more women in line eager to share in the fun with the handsome foreigner, each seemingly more flirtatious then the previous. Most of them are married women, Loki knows, but jealousy is not an Asgardian thing. With marriages and unions expected to last for hundreds and even thousands of years, few would deny their partners a little innocent enjoyment of the charms of another, as long as it doesn't go any further than that. Their husbands, if they are at all noticing, are letting them have their fun, instead entertaining themselves on the dance floor with the other female guests.
Still, he can't help but feel a little sting of that jealousy as he watches Tony and the eager women clinging to him and fluttering their eyelashes, the man smiling back at whoever happens to be in his arms, charming as ever.
And Loki finds himself imagining that smile turning onto him instead, not caring in the slightest how anyone would consider it a preposterous idea that Tony, dashing and handsome, fawned over by a horde of the most beautiful women Asgard has to offer, should direct his attention to a slave instead. It's strange to recall how there was once a time when the last thing he would have wished for was any such attention from Tony, and now…
"Well, if that isn't a pretty face," someone suddenly slurs right next to his ear, the shock of the unexpected presence having sneaked up on him causing Loki to startle, his breath catching in his throat.
And he doesn't like the lustful undercurrents in that voice one bit.
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